


The Head and the Heart

by burgersfromspace



Category: Logan (2017) - Fandom, Wolverine and the X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Graphic Description, Logan (2017), Mutant Reader, Reader-Insert, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-10-10 21:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10448166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burgersfromspace/pseuds/burgersfromspace
Summary: In fear of bringing you closer to danger, he'd let you go for far too long. Time has changed, his strength is letting him down, and he knows he can't do this alone, not anymore. Logan Howlett needs you, and as much as it scares him, he knows he won't want to let you go again when the time comes.





	1. For Old Times' Sake

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not gonna lie, I just got back from re-watching Logan for the third time. And I couldn't stop myself from writing this! Originally, I wanted to write something to fit into the timeline of The Wolverine, in Tokyo, but god...I haven't given old man Logan any of the love and appreciation that he deserves.
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy this!

Society had become, more or less, a concoction of drunks and money-hungry businessmen and hustlers and people who had no time for integrity and trust. Somewhere along that spectrum, you'd curled yourself into the sector of being a mediocre cog in a machine. Work and rent was all you had, and that meant you could _easily_ forget what you used to be, what you used to have, and what _could've_ been.

It was probably best that you did forget the pride and honor of being a mutant, of building camaraderie with people just like you. You weren't sure you'd be able to live with yourself if you dreamed about their faces every night, just to go back to your mundane job as a waitress in the morning.

God, did you _hate_ being a waitress, but you hated your boss even more.

He was a lousy man with lousy manners, a portly slob who couldn't go half a second without yelling at you or your coworkers. As angered as you'd become at his raised voice, a chuckle would be suppressed when the flesh of his cheeks would burn red and his voice would crack mid-sentence. 

Just to pay rent and put food on your plate, you'd worked day in and day out as a waitress for nearly a decade. A _decade_ of bullshit and sore feet and you were tired and if this was what a normal life was like, frankly, you didn't want it anymore.

After shutting the old and creaky door behind you with barbaric force, you'd made it your duty to relax and calm yourself. It was difficult to keep your influences and powers at bay if you couldn't keep your emotions in check. 

Your nightly ritual commenced after you opened up the windows, standing for a moment as the nightly Texas breeze whisked by you. Once you'd dressed yourself down in shorts, an old friend's flannel and rather silly socks, you settled on the old couch against the wall. Music played softly once you'd switched on the small television, it was an old rerun on MTV. _Old_ being the operative word, you chuckled, when a live performance from Pearl Jam began.

A mug of alcohol sat at the side table next to the couch, and after debating whether you wanted to risk drinking terrible whiskey, you realized every bottle of whiskey you _could_  afford would taste terrible anyway. It would be a horror to a former friend, a man with claws who you'd lost track of so many years back. It was sad, really, to see a friendship at the verge of blossoming into something else before losing itself in isolation and diverted avenues.

You lived with the fact that you had no clue where his avenue had led him. You also lived with the fact that he was smart enough to do what was best for himself. It was always about himself.

In the beginning, you'd gone out of your way to reunite with the man once more, and you hoped he was searching for you in return. But after returning to your apartment one particular morning, you'd found a note under the dying potted flower at your door.

_I'm doing fine, bubby._

_You're free. Live._

_Logan._

Your eyes had reread the awful and familiar handwriting before the note was torn and burned. It was probably an act of hostility and it was probably childish, but you had been angry. He knew you were looking for him and he knew where you lived, but he _chose_ to stay isolated. You accepted it with a raised chin and you quit thinking about him too much. It had been ten years.

The sound of a vehicle pulling into your driveway awakened you from your trance, and you were startled enough to nearly spill the whiskey over your ugly carpet. Groaning, you slid the mug onto the side table and switched the yellow lamp off before you turned the television off. _If they think I'm not home, they'll go away_. 

You sat still, your ears perked as you listened closely to what was going on outside your home. The car had turned off and there was steely silence before footsteps crunched over the dirt of the entrance to your home. The steps were heavy and lethargic and you huddled further back into your couch before a heavy knock landed on your door.

"What if she's not home?" A quiet voice asked, old and grainy.

"Her car's here."

Your heart sunk into the depths of your belly at the sound of the familiar voice. It was gruff and rough and smokey and it was the same voice that once belonged to a good friend. But it couldn't be, right? Why would he just _show_ up after ten years of silence? You look over to the mug of whiskey and wonder if you're already drunk, you never did have great tolerance to alcohol. 

The next knock is stronger than the last, and you pad over the carpet slowly, standing completely still before you switch on a lamp.

The knocks come to an abrupt stop as soon as light engulfs the home, and it's silent...eerie and you clear your throat. 

You take a deep breath before you lay your hand on the knob and turn it. The light from your porch blinds you the slightest bit before the burly man before you comes in complete sight. 

And the honey green in his eyes is familiar enough that the knot in your throat only grows. The salt and pepper of his hair reminds you that years had passed, that Logan Howlett had made himself an obscurity, and the aging in his eyes makes you remember how far apart you've been torn. This _is_ Logan, but he looks so...

"What _happened_ to you?"

* * *

Naturally, you're floating in a state of slight shock. You're still not sure if you want to cry or throw up or hug him or yell.

You've got Logan's _daughter,_ sitting on your sofa in the other room, and you've got a _living_ Charles Xavier sitting with her. And then Logan's talking to you in your kitchen, but his voice is as deep as the mental stupor you've been put in that you almost can't hear him. But you do, and you're not sure what to say. You look at Logan, who's giving you an almost guilty look.

"They're after her." Logan grumbles, his voice low and dark while he looks at you from where he's leaning against the counters. "I know it's been a long time, but I nee-"

"A long time?" You start as you lean on the counter across him, your comment laced with acrimony, but the look of melancholy on your face makes Logan silent for a moment. "It's been _ten years_ , Logan."

Logan stares at you, and the dim lighting of your kitchen makes the room feel smaller, you feel almost _too_ close to Logan's large frame. The aging man looks like he's about to say too much and he looks like if he did say something, he'd grow angry with himself. He remains silent for a little longer, and he looks over his shoulders into the living room where Laura and Charles are.

He watches them interact for a short second before he turns to look at you again. 

Logan looks much worse than you remember, and you think the sadness growing in your chest is due to the fact that he looks so _fucked up_. When he opens his mouth, his voice is quieter and softer. "I'm not strong enough to do this on my own...not anymore."

Never in your life would you have thought the Wolverine would every say such a thing. But now that he's here, in your kitchen, tired and desperate for you to help, it feels surreal.

This was the same man who'd helped you hone your skills and who'd helped you learn how to snap a limb in a mere second. He was the one who used to have your back, but now he was asking you to do so for him. It felt like a vicious full circle.

"I'm not what I used to be." Logan grumbles out, running one of his hands over his face. When you say nothing, the older man watches as you turn and look out the window over the sink.

In the moment of lost eye contact, Logan takes his time to take you in. He realizes you look nearly the _same_ as you did a decade ago, beautiful and glowing and untouched. And then his belly tightens when he recognizes the flannel you're wearing- he was surprised that you'd kept it after all these years. It reminds him of the long night's he'd spent with you, the ghostly touches and then a fleeting sense of nostalgia began to boil under his skin. He _missed_ you.

"For old times' sake, I'll go to North Dakota with you." You look at him over his shoulder, and pause the slightest bit when you realize he's staring, " _For old time's sake_."

Logan's gaze never leaves you, and you almost feel intimidated. He's thinking, you know he is, and he finally speaks. "I'm sorry."

He was never the kind of man to apologize, so when he does, you feel a bit taken aback. He explains himself a bit more, his tone sentimental. "I never came back to you. I wanted to, but I couldn't." He shakes his head and looks up at you through his lashes. "You know...why."

Logan's voice drifted off.

"Nothing's gonna happen to me." You offer, your voice confident and steady. You give him a moment before you try to life his spirits with humor. "I _was_ trained by the mighty Wolverine, after all."

The older man shakes his head. "I'm not him anymore."

"You are to me."

The kitchen grows silent once more, and you hear nothing more than the crickets and wind outside. When Logan says nothing, and when the silence becomes too much to handle, you take a deep breath and clear your throat. "You look like shit."

The comment makes his face go bitter, and you can see Logan coming back to his normal state. Perpetually angry and defensive. 

But when he sees you start to smirk, he huffs and smiles. He _smiles_ , and it's beautiful. "Fuck off."

* * *

While Logan ended up utilizing your bathroom to wash up, you had wandered off into the living room to fetch Laura. The little girl was relatively easy to communicate with, she was silent but she gave nods and smiles. There was enough communication that you'd understood that she was hungry, so you sat her down in the kitchen and warmed up some leftovers. After plating the food and sliding it in front of her, she gave you a small smile, and you couldn't help but wonder how _different_ she was from Logan.

You touched her shoulder gently before making your way out of the kitchen.

Wandering into the living room, you see that Charles had been watching an old film on your television until he hears you enter, and he smiles.

You offer him a smile and shake your head as you lean against the door frame, "It's so good to see you, Charles...I'm very happy to see that you're alive."

"Yes, so am I." Charles replies, and you laugh. The old man chuckles with you, but it's quiet and slow. You can tell by the look in his face and the way his eyelids are weighing down, that he is tired.

"Come on, you can take my bed for the night." You announce gently, walking across your small living room to grab the handles of his wheelchair. He nods his head and thanks you sweetly, and you store whatever questions you have for him at the back of his head. They can wait for tomorrow.

Your bedroom is small and meager, you never got into the habit of laying out knick-knacks and framed photos. You had maybe one or two, but Charles looks at the one next to your bed- it's old, and Logan stands next to you in front of the mansion, and he's got that signature scowl on his face, meanwhile you stand grinning at his side.

You clear your throat and move Charles' over to the other side of the bed. "Laura can sleep in here, I told Logan he could have the couch."

"You've been in pain this whole time." His comment throws you off guard, and you stare at him after removing his shoes. "Haven't you?"

Blinking at him through the dingy lighting, you stand up and straighten yourself out. You ignore his observation and move over to the bed to lift the blankets, "I don't wanna talk about it."

"You need to t-"

"Charles," You start softly, "Please...can we do this tomorrow? I'm tired, you're tired. We're leaving early in the morning. Get some rest." You nod over to the bed, and he understands, he doesn't push you to talk about it anymore.

You hear the bathroom door open as soon as you're fluffing up the pillows for Charles, and Logan walks down to your room within a matter of a few seconds. He gives you a poignant look, as if he didn't want you to be doing this. "I got it from here."

He doesn't give you time or room to argue, because as soon as you're done fixing up the bed, Logan's got an arm hooked under Charles' knees and another behind his back. You move out of the way as Logan lays him down on the side that you'd fixed for him, and you roll the wheelchair over to the corner of the room. When Logan turns back around to face you, you're already gone. He sighs.

Making his way to the door, he's stopped when Charles speaks his name.

"What," Logan looks at him.

Charles reaches for the framed photo at the side of the bed and he scrutinizes it for a mere second before nudging it out for Logan to grab. 

Logan cocks a brow before walking back to the bed and grabbing the framed photo from Charles. When he brings it up enough for him to decipher what is going on in the photo, a small huff of a nostalgic chuckle leaves his lips. When he hears Laura enter the room quietly, Logan looks at the photo one more time and places it back on the side table. 

"Get some rest, Charles. We have an early morning." Logan speaks, but he sees Laura reach for something from his peripheral vision.

" _Hey_ ," He warns gruffly, "Don't touch any of her stuff."

Laura's hand retracts from the small box at the top of a dresser. The little girl moves over to sit at the edge of the bed, and Logan gives the girl a cautionary last look before he leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

As Logan walks down the hall, he hears you moving about in the living room. He finds you curled up against one side of the couch, your phone in hand, and makes a quick trip into your kitchen. After downing a tall glass of cool water, he makes his way back into the living room and plops down into the couch that you sat in. He sits and lets his legs widen out and his head goes back.

You look at him over your phone and notice the lines and shadows of his elongated throat, his sharp profile. He was still as handsome as you'd remembered. You crawl to him, and he only peeks one eye open as you reach over him to switch the lamp off. "Get some rest." You add quietly, looking at him as you crawl back to your side of the couch. It's a relatively small couch, one wrong move and he could kick you off in his sleep.

He doesn't say much, but he also doesn't look away from you. For the longest time, he was afraid that he'd forget your face. And now that you were here, he could never forget your face, and he would make sure of it. "You kept it." Logan speaks up and nods at the brown flannel you wear.

You chuckle quietly, and he sees your face light up the slightest bit in the dark room. "I wasn't gonna throw it away...it was all I had left of you."

The comment makes Logan's sharp features soften, and then you speak his name and he's reeled into a coagulation of familiar emotions. "I'm...I'm happy you're here. I really missed you."

Logan is evidently taken aback by your remark as he remains silent and he's staring at you with a tenderness that looks so gorgeous. You repeat yourself one more time. " _I missed you so much_."

"I missed you too." His voice is low and you barely hear it, but your chest tightens when you do. It sounds strange, really, to hear such words coming out of the Wolverine's mouth. He _used_ to say things like that...but it had been so long, that it sounds so foreign and new and you crawl to him without thinking.

When he sees you crawl across the couch to him, it's almost an old and familiar instinct to hold out an arm for you to fit in with him. And you do, and Logan doesn't want to let you go because it feels so good and it's wistful. With one hand on your lower back, he squeezes you tight against his body, and the other hand holds your head close to his chest.

His heart goes wild.

" _I missed you so fucking much._ "


	2. Photograph

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's our second chapter! It's probably going to be the shortest chapter in this story, seeing that it's only 1.5k words, but I wanted to simply set everything up! The journey's just begun! I hope y'all enjoy!

Being a light sleeper was often the consequence of working long and early hours, so it's little surprise to you that your eyes begin to peel open before the sun even _thinks_ about greeting the rest of El Paso.

You're warm and a bit dazed, if not a bit disoriented and muddled when you make note that you aren't in your bed, and then you make note that someone is _snoring_ , and you were _pretty_ sure you weren't a snorer.

When you slowly sit up from your sluggish position on the couch, your eyes struggle to trace out the figure sitting in the armchair across the carpet of the dingy living room you call yours. You rub at your eyes several times until your vision becomes crystal clear and the sleepiness is gone, and you realize who it is that visited you hours ago, asking for your help.

Logan is sprawled out in the armchair with his chin down against his chest and his arms crossed. He's almost like a statue, save for the steady lifting and falling of his chest. The moonlight shining through the window bathes the living room in a muted blue, and you're then able to locate your cell phone. The screen reads _4:31 A.M_ , and you take a breath before rubbing a hand down your face.

"What's the matter?" The voice is deep and you would be lying if you were to say the lazy roughness of it didn't startle you the slightest bit.

He was as much of a light sleeper as you were. He always was.

You look at Logan through your fingers before you drop your hands to your lap, you shake your head, "It's almost five...not sure what time you wanna go?"

Logan sighs when you tell him the time, and almost in a snap, he's awake and the embodiment of a man that is ready for something akin to danger. He stands up at the same time that you do, "Pack small, or nothing if you can. I'll get Laura and Charles."

The man spares you one last glance in the dark before he trudges down the hall and disappears, leaving you to your own devices. You look around the room, searching for anything that you should take with you, anything that _should_ be personal- yet you can only settle on your cell phone. You speed across the room and grab your cell phone before you head down the hall and rush into your bathroom.

You look around the messy bathroom and reach for a pair of jeans that had been thrown over the off-white tile, and then you pull on the cleanest shirt you find on the ground before bringing Logan's old flannel back on over it. The flannel had provided a sense of warmth in the cold bathroom, and it's a comforting factor.

When you step out of the bathroom, Laura is waiting at the side of the door. She casts you an apologetic look and her eyes move over the floor before they land on the toilet. You offer her a small smile and nod into the room, and the girl almost immediately rushes in and closes the door behind her.

You can't help the small huff of a chuckle that escapes your lips while you head down the hall and into the dimly lit living room, where you find Logan pulling on the black coat that he had taken off before he slept, and he looks over at you.

He almost immediately notices your lack of a bag as he watches you shove your phone into your back pocket. "Not takin' anything?"

"I don't have anything." You add casually, and the comment even throws Charles off.

The old man looks at you from his wheelchair, "You've nothing you want to take? Jewelry? Memories?"

"I don't have anything." You repeat yourself and look over your shoulder when you hear the toilet flush and the bathroom door open. Laura gives you a tiny semblance of a smile before she walks over to the small navy backpack on your couch, and she flings it over her shoulders. 

Everyone seems ready, wide awake, and the clock on the wall reads near five o'clock, sharp. Logan is the first to speak, "Let's go. We have a long drive."

"What'd you come in?" You ask as you follow behind him and Charles, and when you step out your home and onto the front lawn, you almost want to laugh.

"I'm...Logan, I'm not getting in that."

"Why?" He grounds out, and you look at him before looking at the limousine Chrysler.

"Don't you think driving in a _limo_ will catch some unwanted attention?" You can't help but joke.

"We'll worry about that later. Just get in the car," Logan speaks deeply before he turns on the heel of his shoe and moves over to help Charles get into the back seat of the long vehicle. While Logan occupies himself with shoving Charles' wheelchair in the trunk, you take one last look at your home.

Laura remains standing on your front porch, and she's staring right at you. You're not sure what it is about her, but there's something... _familiar_. She seems innocent, but something about the way the darkness in her eyes reminds you of Logan throws you off. You give her a tight-lipped smile and motion for her to come along. 

The young girl does as you suggest, and she climbs down the cement steps of the ugly house and walks past you to get into the seat with Charles before she closes the door. With the slam, the car door creaks the slightest bit, and you huff out a snort. There' a bullet shot on the side, and you make a mental note to ask Logan about it later.

When you look at Logan, you realize he's patting himself down, checking his pockets before he growls out a curse. "I forgot my phone. Get in the car." He looks directly at you before jogging up the steps of your house and opening the unlocked door. _What was the point in locking it_? You had zero valuables, nothing attractive, nothing.

Logan pushes the creaky door of your home open and steps back into the stuffy darkness with his mind set on finding the berry colored phone he'd taken from Laura's caretaker. He rummages through the armchair he'd slept in before he finds it charging on the side table. He stares at it for a mere second, knowing he wasn't the one to charge it. It hits him that you must've set it to charge sometime when he first got there.

He swipes the phone from the table and shoves it into the pocket of his coat, and just as he's about to open the door and head back out, he pauses. 

The chauffeur remembers something important that resided in your bedroom.

Wasting no time, the gruff man turns down the dark hall and his shoes meet the carpet of your small bedroom. He's alone and it feels strange, really, because all he can smell in the room is _you_. This was your home, and he's not sure why he feels sad. Maybe because he's come to ruin your life again? Take you away from something _normal_?

Logan strides across the room until he's standing before the side table. He doesn't think much about his actions because he reaches for the picture frame that Charles had shown him, and Logan expertly breaks the back of it open. With two nimble fingers, he reaches in and slips out the photograph that had sparked something in his chest when he looked at it, something that resembled nostalgia and it was _good_.

A much younger Logan scowls back at him, but Logan ignores the rest of the photo except _you_. The deep and wise hazel of his eyes shifts over the way your fingers had wrapped at the fabric of his flannel- the one you wore now. Logan shoves the photograph into his back pocket and leaves.

When Logan shuts and locks the door behind him, he heads down to the small driveway and walks around the front of the slightly damaged Chrysler before he slides into the driver's seat.

"Did you find it?" You ask after he shuts the door and starts the car up.

He offers you nothing more than a gruff mumble, _yeah._ He tilts towards you and places the palm of his hand against your seat while he backs out of your driveway, and you give your home one last farewell.

While the vehicle is maneuvered back out into the main road, you fail to see the side glance Logan's giving you and the dismal look on your face as your home fades in the distance.

But then you look at him, and there's nothing but pure fight in your eyes.

It's the same look he'd fallen stupidly in love with all those many years ago.

He's _doomed_ , for it's a look he'll fall in love with all over again, and he's not sure he wants to change that.


	3. Red Hot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our first small little action sequence! I also sprinkled in a tiny flashback...I know you guys like those. I hope y'all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Silence is a sickening thing.

It used to haunt him, really. It used to make his skin crawl and his mind race and his stomach churn, and it always took a lot to bring him up from the lower places he'd visited on lonely nights.

Those lonely nights had dissipated into something else when he first took up the position of a disgruntled chauffeur in El Paso, those nights were filled with booze and loud passengers, drunk teens and flashy women and everything that reminded him that humanity had truly met its end.

Those lonely nights became loud and migraine-inducing, but he had someone to take care of.

If it weren't for Charles Xavier, Logan wasn't so sure that he wouldn't have blasted that Adamantium bullet through his own skull.

And if it wasn't for the familiar shape of your face, lingering in the back of his head, overpowering the deafening silence of every wretched night, he would've sped up his own demise.

Silence might've been a dangerous and sickening thing, but right now, Logan decides that it resembles peace.

He's grown so used to passengers screaming and drinking and making his head race with violence, that he wallows in serenity at the mere sound of your steady breathing. Logan finds that it's rather soothing to watch the way you take in the scenery. The anxiety in his veins makes way for something akin to marvel and silent reverence.

And then it's broken.

"Quit staring at me."

The older man looks back at the road, not at all embarrassed. Or, well, he _hopes_ he doesn't look embarrassed.

"I ain't starin'."

"You were."

Logan shoots you a side glance, and he sees the way you look at him and he falters. "I wasn't starin'."

"Just because you're going blind doesn't mean I am. You were staring."

"Fuck off."

A chuckle curls through the silence and Logan shakes his head in disapproval before he shifts his attention back to the road.

"You just seem different." He offers quietly.

"You saying I look old?"

Older isn't the word Logan would use- age had nothing to do with the fact. Age was never a thing with you. Logan always looked to be your senior and you his younger companion. Age might not be it, but _maturity_ , he realizes, is what's at play here.

And it looks damn good on you.

" _I'm_ old," Logan corrects you, "And I'm sayin' you seem different, I didn't say you _look_ different."

You nod slowly, "Okay...so, correct me if I'm wrong. What you're trying to say is that I'm aging well?" Your next comment is sarcastic. "You're too sweet."

Logan can't stop the small smirk that climbs onto his face, and his reply is quick to come. "Don't push it, bubby."

 _Bubby_. The familiar pet name brings a silence with it that makes Logan wish away the loud and youthful beating in his chest.

In the backseat, Laura begins to come around from a rather short nap, one that she had taken on and off. She'd woken up about an hour ago, only to fall back into a slumber at the quiet sound of Cash on the radio, but now she was growing too hungry and restless to keep her eyes shut.

The slight movement in the back grabs your attention, and Laura looks at you when you give her a short glance over your shoulder. "She's up." You add and look at Logan, "We should stop somewhere...get some food. Laura and Charles, they need to eat. Plus...he's kinda...y'know,"

Logan cocks a thick brow at you, "He's what,"

" _Old_ ," You add quietly.

"I heard that."

Charles' reply brings a subtle look to Logan's face as if he's _teasing_ you for the fact that you got caught calling the Professor old. Charles chuckles to himself, and he forgives you, "I am a bit hungry, though."

"Are you now? Perfect timing, Charles." Logan adds, and a smirk rises to your face.

"Thank you." The old man's reply is quick and witty.

The little girl in the back seat no longer suppresses the grin that grows on her face.

* * *

 The gas station that Logan manages to find _could_ be worse. You'd tried to get him to go another three miles for a 7-Eleven, but he'd responded with pseudo-asperity. _Typical_. "You can walk there. I ain't drivin' an extra three miles."

The harsh Texas sun would've probably beaten you to a boiled pulp if you'd taken him up on that offer. But you happily find refuge under the cool shade that the smaller and older gas station provides as Logan pulls the Chrysler in beside a gas pump. By the time he turns the car off, Laura's getting ready to climb out, so you follow quickly.

Logan calls after you to remind you that there isn't much time, _don't take too long, be careful_.

Your reply is witty and short as you look at him over your shoulder, "Yes sir."

He detects the sarcasm, but he swallows his pride as you and Laura disappear behind the glass doors.

The quaint station offers comfort in the form of air conditioning and pristine tile floors. The young man behind the counter lacks devotion to his job, he doesn't even bat an eyelash at your entrance. You're not at all surprised by the poor attention. If anything, his lack of consideration for your arrival might make it easier for you to save a few bucks. 

Country tunes play through the intercom, yet the gas station is mostly silent, save for the sound of Laura looking through bags of chips and snacks and sweets. You don't leave her side, and the girl even offers you a kind glance when you look over your shoulder. "Gimme." You hold your hand out, and she places a Concha wrapped in plastic into your hand and you shove it into the side of your shirt. Luckily, there's plenty of space.

Laura watches you closely and you offer her an innocent glance, "Stealing is illegal," You then murmur, " _Never_ do it."

"Do you like these?" You move on, grabbing a packet of _Pop Rocks_ off of a rack. "Logan loves these. Used to."

The young girl shrugs her shoulders, but she grabs the packet from your hand and brings it close to her face for examination. As she does so, you can't help the small smile on your face as you look back over to the counter. The cashier is scrolling through his phone, so you find assurance for your next act.

You kneel down before the girl and grab the small black packet from her hand, "Listen." You rip open the small pack before tilting your head back and lining the opened pack to your lips. As the tiny red granules plunge into your mouth, small and repeated crackles ring in your mouth. The popping sounds are nostalgic. 

 _You were no stranger to Logan, nor was he a stranger to you, but it seemed that you were destined to discover something new about him **every day**_.  _Some days the discoveries were made when he'd sit at the edge of your bed, waiting for you to wake up so that he could talk. He was a talker sometimes. Some days a discovery was small and minuscule, a tiny factor in his character._

_Today, the discovery seemed innocent enough. Endearing, even._

_Typically, Logan wasn't much of a sleeper. Snoozing and napping were more his things, but never a full night of sleep. Naturally, you're not all that surprised when he strides into the large kitchen, donning his leather jacket, purposefully looking upset and melodramatic. With the way he pauses the slightest bit when he finds you seated at the island, he wasn't expecting you to be there. He wasn't expecting you to be awake at 3 in the morning._

_"It's 3 AM. Go to sleep." Logan speaks deeply as he saunters over, deposits a small plastic bag onto the island, and reaches into the fridge for a beer._

_" **You** go to sleep."_

_The brusquely behaved male looks at you over his shoulder. It's a look he's given you plenty of times- intimidation never worked on you. He returns to the task at hand and pops open a beer bottle and takes a swig._

_Logan watches you out of the corner of one hazel eye as you lift your hand over to bring the plastic bag closer. If it were anyone else, he realizes, he would've smacked their hand right away. But there was something about the relationship that he'd built with you that, for some unknown reason, makes him incapable of wanting to keep things from you. It was a relationship he'd worked hard on, and he wasn't about to fuck it up because of his innate aloofness._

_"Wow," You snicker as you pull out several packets of candy, "I always thought you were more of a Red Hots kinda guy. But Pop Rocks?"_

_Logan takes a packet from your hand, and plops down onto the stool next to you, "What's it to ya?"_

_There's a light-hearted chortle that lifts into the otherwise silent kitchen, and the corner of Logan's lip twitches into a smirk for a millisecond. "Nothing," You raise your hands defensively, "Just can't imagine someone as serious as you liking Pop Rocks."_

_Just as you finish your commentary, Logan's tilting his head back and dumping the entire packet into his mouth. When he looks at you, there's a look of dark apathy on his face, but you can still hear the popping of the sweets in his mouth. You can't help the hearty laugh that erupts from your throat, and then Logan can't help the tug in his chest._

A small and childish snicker awakens you from the short and gratifying recollection, and you come face to face with Laura, who's got her entire mouth flooding with blue Pop Rocks. 

You wonder if the cashier is possibly, maybe, wondering about the freaks cackling in the middle of the aisle. You quickly stand and look around over the racks- the cashier's back is turned to you. _Moron_. Through the window, you find Logan's still pumping gas into the Chrysler, and it looks like he's talking to Charles through the window.

It's not until you look to the back of the shop that something strange happens in your muscles. Tension, stress, you're _not_ sure, but you blame it on the strange and hulking man standing at attention. He's huge, looks like he could snap _Logan_ in half if the latter was normal, but it's not his size that throws you off. It's the attire. Its troop-like appearance makes you grasp for Laura's lanky wrist.

You actively look like you saw nothing, and the little girl cocks a brow at the tight grip on her wrist. It's only when she peeks her head to the side that she understands your sudden tension. _It's them_. You can't help the anger that boils in your chest, and you think it's because they had the balls to sneak up on you. _They must be gathered at the back. Tell Logan_.

Laura looks at you when you redirect her attention to you. Your voice is hushed as you switch your grip from her wrist to her small fingers. "Act normal." 

It's a fruitless act, trying to get past the large man to get to the door. By the time you're in the middle of the shop, in clear view- his footsteps resemble thunder and panic ripples through your flesh.

_They're in sight! He brought someone else!_

Laura's shoulder is grabbed harshly, and she doesn't stop the scream that rips her vocal chords in half, or the silver claws that begin to rise from her knuckles. As mesmerizing as the familiar sight is to you, you want her _out_ of the fight, not in.

As the large man drags Laura's small frame from your grip, you fire a quick kick against the side of his abdomen. His frame buckles under the brutal force, and you take the second of his faltering to order Laura out. She's reluctant, but she realizes you want her to warn Logan, and she's sprinting through the door in a matter of a second.

The large man trembles back to his feet, and you're sure he wasn't expecting such a force. He taps his side slightly before bringing his hands into tight fists, and the brown in his eyes burns a near black as anger boils in his face.

Your heart is racing as quick as his probably is, because you both bounce back into action at the exact same second.

Adrenaline is pumping and it's a feeling that you've _missed_. Racks are pushed down as the man grabs you by the collar and you're launched straight through the door that Laura had run through. The glass breaks and your back is bleeding as you land outside and under the Texas sun. You feel humiliated and angry and-

 _Anger_ was always your most dangerous weapon.

The large man tumbles through the door and the moment he lifts a foot to the side of your face, you pull your core just enough to snap your foot tight against his groin. The soldier yells and you're not so sure what takes over you when he reaches his hands down to your face.

He's applying pressure, you feel it, but it's not enough to shut you down.

There are frantic honks and the screeching of tires, and then an engine starting up in the distance.

It takes a mere second for your fingers to take on a feeling you'd long since forgotten to create. A crackling heat crawls and sparkles through your fingers as you bring them up to the man's face, resembling the same hold he's got on yours. Your thumbs find a security right over his eyes, and with just enough pressure, the flesh around his eyes begin to crumble and blacken.

A scream tears itself from his throat and it's raw and beautifully toxic to your ears. _He brought this upon himself_.

He releases you almost instantly and drops himself to his knees. His thick hands claw desperately at the flesh around his eyes. As you land another vicious punch to his cheek, the deterioration expands itself down to his cheek in rivers of rotting flesh.

Just as you think about pouncing one more time, orange sand springs up at the backs of your knees when a Chrysler skids to a stop right behind you.

Logan's reaching out to grab you by the back of the collar, and you're _so tired_ of being grabbed by the collar.

It's a rocky journey to have Logan pull you through his driver's side window. As soon as you're half in, his foot is back on the gas and you're crawling over him, kicking things and he's yelling at you, " _Sit the fuck down_!"

"I'm working on it!"

There's chaos all around you, and you hear your heart pumping in your ears as you look through the side mirrors.

So _this_ is Donald Pierce's army. He's got them armed with intimidation and muscle and heavy artillery. 

"Fuck," You hiss. _This is what you're up against_.

Laura's looking around wildly before she crawls to the other side of the back seat and shields Charles just a second before a bullet blasts through the back window.

The window at Logan's side is shattered and a gloved fist comes right for his face. A monstrous growl rumbles from the depths of Logan's chest as he keeps a grip on the wheel with one tight hand, and he throws his opposite arm back, he builds speed. Three sharp and silver claws glisten before your eyes for a second before Logan plunges a brutal fist into the man's skull. 

Blood stains Logan's white button-up after he pulls the claws out and the man's body disappears in the orange sand.

"Logan, train." The voice is quiet through the blood pumping in his ears until he realizes you're desperately reaching over to take the wheel. " ** _Train_**!"

He finds himself swerving the car almost too late, _almost,_ and the train misses the back of the Chrysler by a mere inch. The car skids over the sand several times before it comes to an abrupt stop, and you can see Pierce's men pulling up on the other side of the tracks. You breathe out a gasp of relief and lean your head back.

You peek open an eye and tilt your head the slightest bit to find Logan's gaze. He looks angry, and you're not at all shocked. Hell, _you're_ angry.

"You guys okay?"

From the corner of your eye, you see Charles shoot Logan a shaky thumbs up. Laura gives him a gentle nod.

When he looks at you for an answer, you're already gazing at him.

"You okay?"

Okay? No. But you're alive, _he's_ okay, and that's enough.

"I'm fine."

"Good," Logan nods his head slowly, and he breathes in, " _Good_."

The tone of his voice when he says it is dark, and you can't help the shiver that runs down your spine when Logan looks at the back of your neck. Pieces of red glass litter the back of his old flannel, and he looks at your face one more time.

"You got blood on my shirt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to be able to get a chapter out as soon as I can, but I'll be visiting my hometown until the 11th, so I might not find enough time to whip a new chapter up until I return! And thank you to everyone for leaving comments, it means _a lot_ to me that you guys are liking the story so far!


	4. Stay With Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!!! So...I know the wait was stupidly long, but I've had a lot of things pop up at once, and then I've been working overtime so there's been zero fun, unfortunately. Luckily, I got the energy and time to finish this chapter up and put it out for y'all, so here it is! Thank you guys for being patient with me, I feel terrible for making y'all wait so long, but hey! Better late than never!

Small talk was never Logan's thing, it was something he wouldn't go out of his way to deliver, so he found a bit of solace in the fact that the interior of the vehicle had remained silent for a handful of the afternoon hours. Charles and Laura had found comfort in sleeping right beside each other, and you'd found it slightly acceptable to lean against the window and catch a few moments of darkness. Several times you had drifted back into a state of consciousness just to ask him how far you were from North Dakota, and he'd grumble something that sounded like

Charles and Laura had found comfort in sleeping right beside each other, and you'd found it slightly cozy to lean against the window and catch a few moments of darkness. Several times you had drifted back into a state of consciousness just to ask him how far you were from North Dakota, and he'd grumble something that sounded like _days_ before telling you to go back to sleep, _get some rest, I'll wake you up when we get there._

And you do. You manage to gather another hour of sleep before a booming and annoyingly loud ruckus births and rumbles outside the large Chrysler.

It's loud enough to stir you awake and when you open your eyes, you realize it's well past sunset and you're sure you're not in Texas anymore.

The sky is bathed in a deep and royal purple, an infusion of colors that usually brings about soothing sentiments, but you're overwhelmed by bright neon pinks and blues that rush by in flashes. You squint in slight annoyance as your eyes fail to adjust to the sudden colors of the city. Logan notices your reaction, "I thought you were a city girl."

You don't give Logan a coherent response, as you're far too sleepy to deliver anything above a dull mumble whilst you gather your thoughts. And only then are you capable of saying more, "Where are we? Are we hiding out here?"

Logan shakes his head and looks in the rearview mirror to see Laura already hogging up the window, and Charles is just barely coming around. "Oklahoma City and we're not hiding out," He starts huskily and shoots you a glance, "We'll get a coupla hours of sleep. Get some new clothes, get a new ride, and get outta here."

Your old colleague pulls the limousine in under a resort's valet parking archway just as you're yawning and looking out the window in slight amusement. Now that the sleep had worn off, you were a bit curious of your surroundings. Perhaps a bit hypersensitive to the sounds and colors, but curious nonetheless.

It's a bit embarrassing exiting the slightly beat up Chrysler when there are gorgeously expensive cars all around. But the idea of sleeping on a mattress, under blankets, after a _bath_ , is enticing enough to wash away the minor shame that overcomes you when the valet shoots the car a bizarre glance. Logan is a lot less shameful as he hauls Charles into the wheelchair and tosses you the keys to hand over to the valet.

You clear your throat and hold the keys out for the valet before you scrutinize the car and then look back at him. Your tone is strictly serious. "Be gentle. As you can see, she's been through a lot, so she's a bit fragile right now."

Logan definitely overhears your comment because you see the shake of his head and a slight tremble of his shoulders as he pushes Charles' wheelchair over the lift of the sidewalk.

As soon as the valet gives you a slow nod and takes the keys from you, you follow Logan into the casino after he grumbles for you to follow.

Walking at his side proves to be difficult when your attention is all but swallowed whole by the bright machines and loud dings and you can't even fathom how much fun _you_ would have here. Only when Charles reaches for your wrist does your attention swerve right back into reality, and you look down at the man in the wheelchair. The look on his face is of concern as he scans the sea of people, and you can't help but pity the struggles of your mentor.

You lay your palm flat against his shoulder and keep an eye out to make sure you don't fall too behind Logan and Laura, who lead the way together. And you get another glimpse at just how _fucked_ up Logan is.

He's got a bad limp, but he's walking fast enough to try to cover it- it doesn't work. Laura soon picks up speed when she sees two mannequins in a display window, and your heart swells when she presses the tips of her fingers up against the glass. "Logan, you did say we needed a change of clothes." You murmur as you reach for Logan's sleeve and pull him back a bit.

The man looks down at you his with a look that could only resemble that of irritation- he wanted to _rest_ \- but he sighs in defeat when you tilt your head and mumble his name in a challenging tone.

"Fine," He pulls his sleeve from your grip. The childish reaction brings upon a snicker from you and Logan shoots you a glare at the sound. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. I'm not laughing." 

You are.

Logan squints at you and prepares to say something, but he's interrupted when Charles calls his name and nods at the gift shop. "Can you get me the cowboy hat, Logan? Or maybe you can wear it?"

"Like hell I will."

* * *

Knowing there's a bed on the other side of the door makes it almost entirely _impossible_ to stay still as Logan's working on opening the suite's door. You're practically at his back, bouncing back and forth and ushering him to hurry.

Logan finally snaps at you over his hunched shoulder, "How 'bout _you_ try pickin' the lock. This thing's impossible."

You couldn't remember the last time you picked a lock, but if you could remember correctly- you _did_ pick the lock successfully. So you shrug your shoulders and hold your hand out for the bobby pin that you'd provided him for the task. "Watch and learn, old man."

 _Watch and learn_ turns to five minutes of no success and Logan's leaning against the wall while Laura leans her torso against Charles' wheelchair. It appears that even Logan's growing a bit impatient. Not only that, but he's sure passing guests will find it a bit strange to see the four of you gathered in the hall, and maybe even more so when he moves to cover you from their sight. _We lost the key_ , he'd lied to them with a less than convincing close-lipped smile.

If it wasn't for you telling him to give you time, he would've broken the door down by now. "You said you could do it."

"I say a lot of things, Logan," You grumble under your breath as you concentrate on the lock, moving the bobby pin this way and that, your ears listening for a specific _click_. A mere second after your comment, a subtle click rings through the lock and Logan looks at you in mild surprise.

You give him a triumphant smile, "Where would you be without me?"

"Don't get cocky," Logan's quick to kill your pride as he nudges you through the now open door and follows after Laura and Charles make their way in. He shuts the door behind him, looks through the peephole, and drops the bag he's carrying onto the floor before shedding himself from the black coat he had been wearing the whole trip.

The suite provides just enough space for the four of you, although it does force you to remain close. You're more than pleased when you catch sight of a large window overlooking the bright nightlife of Oklahoma City. Along one wall is a sleek leather sofa, and a few feet away sits a single armchair. A flatscreen TV glistens on another wall.

All is good until your eyes zone in on the single queen bed, and you subtly look around for another one, though you know it's a fruitless act. Your thoughtful glance at the perfectly made bed doesn't go unnoticed by Logan.

"Go wash up, this can wait." He gestures vaguely to the bed before he nods over his shoulder to a door that you presume leads to the bathroom.

"You don't need to go first?"

"No, go." Logan shakes his head and nods towards the door again.

"Charles?" You speak, and the elderly man shakes his head before he guides his wheelchair over to Laura.

"You go first." The old man offers kindly over his shoulder.

You look at Laura, who's too enraptured by the view that the large window offers to pay attention to the current situation. You look at Logan one more time, but he's busy already striding across the room to find a place to charge the phone he carries.

As soon as Logan's through with fumbling with a stolen charger, he glances over his shoulder as you disappear behind the white wooden door. His attention is brought back to the phone when it vibrates to signal its charging status, and he's about to turn it on when Charles speaks his name. "Quick question, do you have a photo in your pocket?"

"No," Logan grumbles as he slides the phone onto the small side table.

"You do," It's a simple observation that Charles makes before he moves along. "Logan, she's noticed. She has to know." Charles' voice is almost pleading as he looks up at Logan, "She is a close and old friend of yours. One who has seen you heal through every single bullet and every single slice. You _have_ to tell her what's happening within you. Simply telling her you don't heal as fast isn't going to do much."

"I ain't tellin' her anything, Charles." Logan stops him in a snap. 

There's a look of guilt in Logan's eyes. It's almost like it just _really_ hit him.

His absence offered you nearly an entire _decade_ of domestic peace, and Logan knows his sudden arrival was a perfect catalyst to your mundane life. You knew it too. _Yet you didn't say no_.

"You went to her for a reason."

Logan's pretending he's not listening to a word that the old man is speaking as he limps around the room, looking into every door and inspecting every corner. Charles is relentless, "Why did you want _her_ help, Logan? Were you so selfish that you couldn't let her live her life, then?"

Logan snaps at the comment. "I _am_ selfish." He grits his teeth, "I am selfish and I am ugly but _she_ is _not_."

Charles blinks at the disgruntled man before him, and even Laura is catching onto the conversation from afar. 

"I went to her because she's someone I trusted, someone I  _trust._ I trust her with your life and I trust her with Laura's life, and that's more than enough to convince me she's the only one I could've gone to."

"Do you trust her with your own life, Logan?" Charles asks quietly.

At this point, Logan is about ready to leave the room, but he takes a breath and opts to end the conversation with a steady remark. "She trusts me with hers. I trust her with mine." 

Charles takes another moment to observe his younger companion before he offers a slow nod, "Then trust her enough to tell her how fucked you _really_ are."

"Thanks, Charles. Really, thanks." Logan sarcastically shows gratitude as Charles moves on to explore the rest of the suite.

"My pleasure."

Logan is left in slight humiliation as Laura looks at Logan and then at the bathroom door like she heard it all.

The young girl leans back into the comfortable bed, watching Logan as he leans towards the bathroom door. He knocks harshly. 

"Open the door."

The harsh pounding of the knock startles you the slightest bit as you lean closer to the large mirror, trying your best to hold your shoulder at an angle to the light.

"I'm kinda busy, Logan." You murmur, ripping off your flannel and pulling your shoulder up again, making a face when you find another small shard of glass lodged in the flesh of your left shoulder. "I asked you if you wanted to go first and you said no. Go pee in the lobby."

"I don't have t- just _open the door_." He's growing agitated as his thick fingers move towards the golden door knob.

You can't stop the whimper that leaves your lips when the glass is longer than you thought, and you're surprised you didn't feel it during the car ride. It reminded you of the bruises that would go unknown until your eyes would fall upon them.

"Hey," Logan sounds a bit softer now, "You okay in there?"

Definitely _not_. You can't pull the glass out yourself. You know Logan will pull it out with no mercy, and that's just what you need. 

Sighing in painful defeat, you plod to the door and slowly unlock it. "Come in."

When Logan walks in, he's slightly blinded by the bright lights of the bathroom. While his vision adjusts, he shuts and locks the door behind him. He then steps over his old flannel, thrown haphazardly to the ground. He's about to make a comment about reminding himself to never lend you another article of clothing. _You have no resp_ -

"What _happened_?" He's asking quietly when he sees you lean towards the mirror, over the vanity, at an awkward angle.

"That guy at the gas station," You start slowly as you try to pull the glass with shaking fingers, "Threw me through the glass door. _Fucking asshole_. I didn't even feel it until I saw it a few minutes ago."

It's not a large piece of glass, but just enough to cause _anyone_ discomfort. You're sure if it hadn't been for your tough skin, you would've been crying the entire ride out.

"You're doing it too slow." Logan offers, grabbing your other shoulder and tugging you this way and that until he's got you between himself and the counter. It's a risqué position, he's close enough that you can smell and feel his breath against your neck, and he looks so serious in the mirror that it almost makes you nervous.

With two nimble fingers, he pinches the strap of your bra and slides it to the side a little more. "Guess you can still take a beatin', huh?"

Logan glances at you in the mirror before focusing back on the slightly bloody shard of glass. You chuckle, "Doesn't mean I want another."

"I ain't lettin' you get another." He mumbles under his breath as he nudges the glass the slightest bit until you wince. The moment you're about to say something in response, _not like you can take 'em any better_ , Logan all but yanks the piece of glass right out, and only then does the wound start to bleed a deep tone of red as it dribbles down your back.

" _Asshole_ ," Logan hears you whisper harshly, and he can't help the small smirk on his face as he grabs a small hand towel from the sink. "You didn't even warn me."

"You've had worse."

Logan recalls many previous wounds, and a piece of glass in your shoulder is _nothing_. He hands you the small hand towel, realizing it might be... _strange_ if he were to be the one to clean the blood that now stained your flesh. Sure, he used to do so, but that was so long ago.

He used to be so...so _forward_ with you. But now he felt so ugly when he wanted to be forward with you, to talk to you the way he used to, to touch you the way he used to. The feeling is worse when Logan looks into the mirror, and you're both such polar opposites. The spitting image of a beauty and a beast, a _Wolverine_. He's going gray and he's limping and fucked up. 

Naturally, the self-loathing man is a bit taken aback when you give him a small smile and hand him the small white towel in return. "I can't reach."

You can. You know you can, _he_ knows you can. But he doesn't say anything as he motions for you to lift your arms over your head after a minute of thought.

You're exposed, and the only thing saving you from his _dirty old eyes_ is your bra and pants.

His skin burns hot and his blood runs under a boil, and he can't help but accidentally let his knuckles brush your skin. _He wants to remember, but what if you don't want him to?_ It's silent for a handful of minutes, and he's glad you don't hear the wilderness that is coming to life in his chest.

Your mild tone rising in the air brings his eyes to yours in the mirror, and he watches your lips form your words. "How long have you had that limp?"

"What?"

"That limp," You motion down to his leg with a wave of your hand, "How long have you had it?"

Logan gives a barely visible shrug of his shoulders as he leans over you and runs the towel under warm water. When there's another minute of silence, he thinks you've dropped the subject. You don't.

"I saw it yesterday, too. But I didn't wanna ask...but I do now."

"A while," He offers simply, moving to your side to wring out the towel with strong hands. 

"A while...a few days? Weeks?"

"Months."

The answer doesn't sit well with you, and Logan can feel your eyes on him. When he turns around to clean your back again, you turn and face him, leaning back against the counter and challenging him to ask you to turn around. 

Logan looks down at you with a stern shell before he tosses the towel to the counter. "Don't look at me like that."

"Logan, you've had that limp for _months_?" Your voice is laced with exasperation.

It doesn't make sense, really. Months of recovery just wasn't...it wasn't a possibility, not with someone like _Logan_. Hours? Maybe. Days? Pushing it. But _months_? "Are you okay, Logan?"

The man doesn't answer at first. There's a juncture of silence that feels almost as long as the time that he'd left you, and it's enough time for you to be provided with all the telltale signs of the guilt that burns deep within him. Logan looks absolutely defiant, resistant, _determined_ to lie to your face. You beat him to the punch. "You're not healing anymore, are you?"

Chapped lips fall open the slightest bit as he takes a breath, "You're not, Logan?" He wants you to stop talking when he watches a wave of confusion wash over your face because he knows it's his fault, "You're not healing?"

"I am," Logan tries to remain unperturbed, "Just...not like before. Not the way you remember."

"So...then what does that mean for us?"

Deep hazel eyes search your face closely, and he realizes the look on your face resembles the one you'd given him the night he left. Something burns his beating heart with a flash of pain. His voice hides it well enough, its tone deep and steady, gruff and it's alluring.

"It means I need you to stay with me through this. You need to stay with me." 

The comment in and of itself brings a chaotic falter in your heartbeat, and it worsens when Logan reaches for your wrist. 

"Do you understand?"

"Okay," You can't breathe and your stomach is churning but you remain as calm as him, "I'll stay with you."


	5. Vivid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! But I'm honestly surprised I was able to finish this chapter tonight!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy!

"There's four of 'em now,"

A stool is kicked over. " _ **Four** fuckin_ ' mutants!" Donald Pierce is a force to be reckoned with as it was, and in a crest of anger, no one can ever _dream_ of talking the man down. "He brought along that little _whore_ with 'im."

His men watch, some try their hardest not to flinch as their leader bellows and fumes in red hot anger. And when Pierce calls for the tracker, only one of the men is brave enough to straighten himself out and walk down a hall to retrieve the bald man with skin that has scarred and grown red, raw.

After having been dragged down into the stuffy basement where the soldiers are gathered, Caliban lifts his head in a feeble attempt to appear submissive to the power-hungry mogul. He knows _exactly_ what he's here for, and he knows _exactly_ what's about to happen. 

" _Tracker_ ," Pierce starts after he seems to have gathered a bit of his anger and stowed it away, "Sit." The blond man motions for Caliban to sit on the stool that he'd kicked over. 

The man that had Caliban captured by the arm shoves the mutant forward, and Caliban shamefully bends down to bring the stool into an upright position before slowly sitting down upon it. All attention zones in on the tracker and his captor, Donald Pierce, as the blond man rips the beige cloth from Caliban's head. The protective cloth flies across the room and slides on the dirty cement floors.

"You know why you're here, _don't ya_?"

Caliban raises his bright silver eyes to scrutinize Pierce, and he shakes his head once. "No."

Pierce takes a deep breath in, his nostrils flaring before he forces a harsh grin onto his face. "'course you do," He starts as he bends down to be at eye-level with his tracker, "Tell me why, before sending us off to that gas station and getting my _best soldier **killed**_ , you didn't feel the need to warn us that the Wolverine brought along an old _friend_. You know who I'm talkin' bout, right?"

The mutant blinks at him, a look that resembles a mix of guilt and resistance climbs to his face. Pierce continues when Caliban delivers nothing but silence.

His jaw locks tightly into place as he takes a deep breath to hold down another blast of anger, "Did you _know_ she would be there?"

How could he _not_? Her name is one he'd heard multiple times, a name that Logan had cried, a name that the Wolverine had screamed in the throes of nightmares, had whispered when things got too rough. Caliban had felt the exact moment the two kindred spirits met once again, and the two mutants were too easy to keep track of. He knew she would be there, of _course_ he did.

"I didn't know," He lies.

Pierce seethes and his hands ball up into fists as he stands straight, "You used to play for the good guys, Caliban. What happened? You got religion, now?"

"You must have me confused with someone else."

"No, I know _exactly_ who you are," Pierce points a menacing finger down at Caliban, "You're a tracker, Caliban. You know where they are, you knew where they were, and you _knew_ she was there. _You_ killed my best soldier."

Silence fills the room as Pierce and Caliban do nothing more than glare at each other before Pierce finally breaks the tense silence. "I ain't gonna kill you. Not yet, anyway, not if you do your job." Pierce walks across the room and picks up Caliban's cloth before tossing it at his face, "So get to trackin'."

Before exiting the room, Pierce turns back to face the closest of his men. "Next time we cross them, focus on incapacitating the Decayer. She just might be more of a danger than Wolvie. _Just might_. Without her in the picture, we're one step closer to my little Laura."

* * *

Warmth was a pleasure offered to those that knew companionship, those that were strangers to solitude.

Warmth keeps him from sleeping. Years of _loneliness_ , Logan realizes, had nearly made him forget the comfort of company and warmth. _Your_ comfort. And though he always feigned a lack of recognition for your presence in the past, he'd matured just as you had. There was no _room_ for hidden sentiments because now that you were really alive, tucked away between his body and the couch, he no longer feels capable enough to pretend that he could let you go.

Pretending always hurt in the end. It had hurt him when he left you with nothing more than a rough kiss on your cheek, with nothing more than the flannel you were using as a blanket, with nothing more than a profound void.

He could never forgive himself for leaving you behind the way he did. So much could've happened if he hadn't left you, so much of what he'd _promised_ you.

_"You have a thing for dogs, right?"_

_Logan had an eyebrow raised right at you as he waited for your response. For a moment, he'd gotten nothing more than a suspicious glance from you._

_"I don't have a **thing** for dogs, Logan. That's weird. I do like dogs if that's what you mean." You cocked a brow back at him, "Why're you asking? Planning on gifting your BFF for life a pooch?"_

_He delivered his next comment with a tone that was guttural and **knowing**. He knew what he wanted. Logan always knew what he wanted, and you were it. You were always it. "Maybe after I get us a cabin in the woods."_

_The long-haired man takes a swig of his beer when you nearly choke. "Jeez," A small smirk tickles his face, "I'm just kiddin', baby."_

He wasn't.

He _so_ wasn't.

But now he had to pretend he was, right? Ten years...you'd probably forgotten what he said that night. He wished he could've forgotten it as well, but the memories remained, _remain_ vivid.

You are vivid.  _For old times' sake,_ you've allowed him to wrap you up in his tired arms and vividly relive the way his chest tightened around you. _For old times' sake_ , you didn't push him away. _For old times' sake_ , you hadn't told him to go rot when he showed up at your doorstep. 

The older man grimly welcomes himself to the waking world when he accepts that there's too much going on in his mind to sleep. The realization that something's warming him up considerably leaves goosebumps over his flesh. His arms, as tired as they are, wrap you up tightly as he holds you close. He's sweating. Logan's sweating buckets and so are you, the warmth is everywhere.

And _god_ , does he hate himself for prying himself off of you.

Muscles ache and bones pop into place as Logan sits up slowly on the couch. A low rumble leaves his chest when he lifts his weight to stand, a bit wobbly but he stands and makes his way to the window. Peeking through the blinds, he squints as the Oklahoma sunrise is barely making itself known over the city. 

Logan gives himself an hour to prepare for the day. A yawn ripples through the room, it distracts him a bit.

"What time is it?" You ask quietly, rubbing at your eyes with the palms of your hands before you squint at Logan. 

"I don't know," He shrugs, "6 or so. Go back to sleep."

"Why're you up? You hate being up early."

"Go back to sleep," Logan repeats, hobbling across the room to grab at the door knob of the bathroom before he turns to look at you. "I'm gonna go out and get us a car after I wash up. I'll be back when you wake up."

"You're going alone?"

"Yeah. You need to rest."

"So do you."

"I don-"

"If anyone should go, it's me. You've got a limp and you're old-"

"Watch it." His voice is stern and he looks slightly insulted. "You're not goin' with me."

"You brought me to help you," You hiss quietly as you begin to stand up, "So I wanna help."

The man keeps his critical glance on you, his face scrunched in irritation before he sighs and shakes his head. "You're stayin'. I can't put you in any more danger than you already are. Stay."

" _Jesus_ ," A grainy voice speaks in anger from beneath a layer of blankets and a comforter, "If you guys speak any louder the _Chinese_ will be able to hear you."

"Don't leave without me, please."

Logan doesn't move his hazel eyes from you until he simply shuts the bathroom door behind him, leaving you with Charles and a snoring Laura in the room.

"You guys still argue like a married couple."

You sigh and can't help the dry chuckle from your lips."Charles, _please_  go back to sleep."

* * *

"Get that one."

Logan's trying _hard_ not to pay attention to you.

"No, _that_ one. That one's _nice_ ," You gasp out, pointing at a black '67 Mustang. "Come on, you've always wanted a Mustang."

"I know, but I'm not here for one." He grumbles under his breath, moving along with you by his side as he scrutinizes each car you pass together. "Just something cheap, something to get us ou-"

"Hi!" Logan's cut off by a rather happy voice, and you both turn to a smiling blonde, "How can I help y'all?"

"Um," You start slowly, "My...my _husband_! My husband and I are lookin' for a car." You put on a Southern accent, and Logan stands perfectly bitter as the lady watches the both of you. "Somethin' cheap an' quick." You snap your fingers once for emphasis.

"Alright, well...you _are_ standin' in front of a Mustang-"

"No no, that won't do. My husband's a bit," You whistle slowly and circle your index finger at your temple, _Crazy_ , "says a 'stang won't do. He wants a _manly_ truck. He's manly."

Logan throws you a terrifying glare when the dealership lady looks around the sunny lot before she claps once. "Ah! I know just the one. Follow me!"

You both follow the older woman through the car dealership lot. "Now, it ain't so quick, but it's the cheapest option that can get you around." The lady, whose name you'd failed to catch, smiles at the both of you as she stands before a Ram Rebel truck. "Take her how she is. But she does need new tires."

"We'll take it," Logan speaks without even looking at the truck a second time, and he reaches into the pocket of his new jacket. "8 grand in cash enough?"

The lady seems reluctant, but when she sees the serious glance on both of your faces, she clicks her tongue and places her hands on her hips. "You still need paperwork."

Logan looks at you before looking back at the woman, "Tell you what, 10 grand if you can forget the paperwork."

She sighs and nods in hesitation, "Alright, but you _still_ need new tires, man. They're bald."

"How long will that take?" You ask, knowing you didn't have all the time in the world.

"45 minutes, an hour max."

Luckily, Logan had easily spotted a bar right across the lonely street from the car dealership. "Alright. No more than an hour."

After having agreed on it all, you both stride across the street. 

The bar, luckily, isn't packed enough to make you feel uneasy. If anything, it's a bit lonely. There's enough seating for Logan to lead you to the bar and you take two stools beside each other. "Don't you think 10 grand is...too much?" You ask once you're settled in.

"I ain't givin' her 10 grand. I'm givin' her 6 grand, we'll be gone by the time she realizes it's not 10 grand."

"So...okay, so we're kinda almost _stealing_ a car?"

Logan looks at you as he pulls out his glasses from the pocket of his jacket. "Kinda."

"Mm, guess the great Logan Howlett never stopped being a bad boy."

That comment brings him back down a bit, and he looks calm, but there's a film of challenging. _Teasing_. "Well, you always hung around. Still here. Guess you enjoy the bad influence?"

You can't help the familiarity that courses through your blood when Logan doesn't stop looking at you. And you realize this all seems so...intimate and like you've experienced this before and that you feel _it_ again. It worsens when you eye the leather jacket Logan dons, and the _fitted jeans_ and boots, the blue button up. There's a restless churning in your tummy and a stupid giggle erupts from your throat.

"What's so funny?" Logan inquires.

"Nothing...nothing, it's just," _It's just you look so good_. You motion to the dimly lit environment in general after clearing your throat, "this just reminds me of that time, back in '04, when you took me out to that ugly little bar in Wisconsin and broke that man's arm for looking at me wrong."

That brings a strange and contagious rumble from deep within his chest, and you recognize his chuckle. "He _was_ lookin' at you wrong."

"No...he was looking at me the same way you looked at me every day back then."

"Well," Logan starts quietly like he wants to move on, "no one else can look at you like that. Just me."

You're thrown completely for a loop by his comment, even more so when he moves along like he never said it. He's reaching for the back pocket of his fresh Levi's and pulls out a yellow envelope. _Move on. Don't make it awkward_. You quietly clear your throat and pretend to find interest in the rest of the people at the bar, who are mostly older folk.

A few moments pass before Logan's hissing expletives under his breath, and when you look at him his face is scrunched up and distorted in anger. "Shit, _**fuck**_!"

"What?" You ask, a bit startled, as you lean over to look at what he's staring at.

"Eden. It's not...it's a _fuckin_ ' lie. A fuckin' page from a comic book. That nurse gave me a fuckin' address that she got from a god damn comic book." Logan takes several deep breaths to contain himself before he pops up and grabs your wrist.

"We gotta go. We gotta go, _now_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bro I'm excited for the next chapter!


	6. Break The Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A seizure hits!
> 
> Also! I'm changing verb tense! It used to be in present tense, but I realized it kinda...slowed me down and complicated it for me? I feel that, for me, past tense is a lot easier to get out! So, I hope y'all enjoy!

The drive back to the casino was relatively quick, especially with how fast Logan had been driving. Speeding, you settled, would've been the perfect and correct term for his driving. Logan never _was_ the best driver around, he was always a bit dangerous and impulsive, and those characteristics were evident whilst Logan nearly ran a red light.

It seemed your patience was running dry, but fortunately, the casino was in view down the busy road. That in itself only made Logan jerk the truck forward at a dangerous speed as he pulled up under the valet awning. His face was that of pure rush and valor. Whilst you followed his quick walk up the curb and into the entrance of the casino, you'd left behind a rather confused valet who kept calling after the both of you for the keys, but Logan's mind seemed to be ignoring the man.

You rushed right after Logan, just as confused as the forgotten valet, watching the curves of his back nearly disappear before you decided to pick up your pace just to catch up again.

This reminded you an awful lot of the times before he left, the times where he'd be the leader in the duo, where he'd lead you straight into the core of danger. It felt familiar rushing after him, looking at _him_ to lead. And then you remembered the possible danger ahead.

Picking up your speed once more, you were quick to finally catch up to Logan, who'd been observing everyone except you. But you knew you were always in the back of his mind, in his peripheral vision. "Logan, you ne-"

When a group of men in black caught his eye, Logan froze for a mere second before he took action and scratched his temple to hide his profile before turning around. "Come on, this way." The fact that his voice had lowered itself dangerously grew caution in you as you looked up at him. In an attempt to confirm your suspicion, you looked around him and caught sight of Pierce's men. Hissing out an expletive, you followed a little faster after him.

And then it happened. You'd almost lost sight of him. And then you couldn't _hear_ him. The world came to an abrupt **_stop_**.

Logan was right _there_ , though. He was right in front of you, calling your name, but you couldn't, for the life of you, move to him. No...you couldn't _move_. It took a chaotic minute for you to realize that you were quite nearly in a state of paralysis, with your fingers trembling and your arms shaking as you held yourself through the pain. After ducking your head to curl into yourself, a looming shadow appeared and intense warmth quickly embraced you with unsteady arms.

 _What is happening_? This was... ** _terrifying_**. Everyone in the casino, in the closest proximity, appeared to be experiencing the same pain as you. The same lack of motion, inability to speak or even breathe properly _God_ , you wanted to scream and curl up into yourself as the world around you continued its violent and cruel shaking.

But Logan, the man who was never phased by anything, bundled you up tight to his side as he trudged down a long hallway. You could hear him groaning and holding back from  _screaming_. It was almost as if he was pulling you and himself through thick and merciless mud, his fingers digging tightly into the side of your torso to keep you with him, his jaw uncomfortably tight as he bit back the hectic pain and the rushing thoughts.

If he'd been able to speak, Logan would've teased you when your arms came up to wrap at his torso at the speed of a snail. You had to hold on, to hang on for dear life. You were losing _everything_ , or that's what it _felt_ like. You were sure you would at any second if the shaking continued or if the pounding in your head and the tightening in your chest didn't stop. Logan seemed to be the only tangible subject that was keeping you grounded, the current force that was keeping you alive as he dragged you with him.

Even when he was suffering, it seemed  _you_ were his priority.

The shaking world appeared violently as your eyes came to a slow opening when his arm tightened uncomfortably around you until you realized he'd been using his right claws as leverage against the wall. He'd released a louder groan when the door of the suite came in view, and at the very entrance stood one of Pierce's men, armed and as paralyzed as you. Or, well, you realized he might've been in _worse_ shape, however, when you came to think that at least, with force, your legs _were_ moving. Though unsteady and torturously slow, you knew you could move without Logan's help.

That just seemed so _damn_ impossible with the pain.

But you had to do it. He was doing it, so why couldn't _you_?

Logan almost didn't want to let you go when you tried to push yourself from his side with a force that even you didn't know you had, but he'd reluctantly let you go when you made way for the man at the door.

Your body seemed to slowly level out the pain and chaos in your mind, allowing you just enough control and ability to move through the quicksand-like atmosphere. The soldier's eyes shifted your way while the rest of his body remained frozen, gun raised into the room but eyes on you and your raising hands. You wondered how much terror was running through him. Not just for the fact that Charles was having a seizure and he couldn't move, but with the fact that _you_ were going to be his death.

 _You_ , the one he was ordered to kill on sight, were about to kill _him_.

Logan had watched the moment you raised both your hands and pressed the tips of your fingers against the sides of the soldier's face, the flesh of his visage crumbling into char and decrepit flesh at the mere touch. _Serves him right_.

It was when your knees buckled that Logan lunged forward through the quake and wrapped both of his arms around you from behind. With enough force, Logan straightened you out and held you against him as he walked into the room, an arm over your chest to hold you back and keep you away from the rest. The position offered him the chance to dunk you at the couch before plunging a set of claws through the throat of the man that stood behind the couch.

When your body collided against the couch, it was as if you were completely ready to _let_ go and sleep, but your mind was _stuck_. _Charles_...

Your blurring and rotating vision caught sight of a duo of men holding their guns up right at Charles' head, and you wondered just what would've _happened_ if Charles hadn't had the seizure at that very second. And then you found Laura a few feet away, her small hand gripped a syringe while she crawled terribly slow over the carpet, making her way towards Charles.

Once Logan had successfully incapacitated the remaining men holding their guns to Charles, he reached shakily for Laura to hand him the syringe. 

It happened much faster than you were imagining, much to your satisfaction and relief. Once the syringe plummeted into the professor's shoulder, the world came to life. _You_ came to life, your body was freed as everyone else in the room collapsed to the ground.

Your breathing was rapid and difficult to catch, but once you did, you rose to your shaky feet after hearing chaotic breathing behind the couch. Logan looked over his shoulder at you the moment he heard the slight second of chaos as you'd reached behind the couch and lifted a hidden soldier from the collar of his tactical gear. It took nothing more than your tight grip at his throat to bring about a raw scream as the flesh of his neck began to burn raw, and you didn't release until the bones of his neck met your hands.

His body dropped and you continued to catch your breath, your body heaving in and out of a state of relief and panic. What the _fuck_ just happened? Was that...was that a _**seizure**_? The ones Logan had _barely_ mentioned?

You were plucked from your racing thoughts when Logan had firmly placed his hands on your shoulders and turned you to face him. He was remarkably close, and before you could tell him to _back off_ , his hands held the sides of your face as his thumbs pulled your lids up to inspect your eyes. Logan scrutinized your state closely while you protested and groaned.

"Stop fussin'," He growled and shook you lightly to catch your attention, "You feelin' okay?"

"Sure, I thought I was on the verge of death but I'm _fine_ , Logan." You commented sarcastically before looking up at him in concern. "You didn't tell me they got _that_ bad."

Logan blinked down at you before looking over at Charles, who'd been staring out the window in a state of shock. Your friend ignored your comment and simply moved along, moving to grab the handles of Charles' wheelchair. "We gotta go. He might be sending more."

And with that, the four of you were out and into the lobby within a matter of a short minute. You were already panting, feeling the effects of the seizure starting to take over. You wanted to rest, but you were moving fast after Logan, who'd led the group through a maze of nauseous and recovering people. You suddenly wondered how it would've felt if you were to experience the seizures if you _weren't_ a mutant. 

Pity coursed through you when you caught sight of an elderly female vomiting in a corner.

And then sadness took over when you overheard Charles apologizing profusely, wanting to reach out to the ones he hurt. But he couldn't.

When you exited the casino, the outside world seemed to be in the same state of chaos as the inside of the resort. There had clearly been several car accidents along the road, and many people were stumbling out of their vehicles to regain balance and empty out the contents of their stomachs. Logan paid them not an ounce of attention, "Get in, hurry," Logan motioned at you as he tossed the wheelchair into the bed of the truck.

You opted to take refuge in the back seat, right next to a heartbroken Charles Xavier. When he heard you slide in instead of Laura, Charles looked over at you and reached for your hand. "I am sorry."

The small tremble in his voice sent chills down your spine whilst Logan started up the truck after he and Laura hopped in.

"Don't," You shook your head at Charles, running a comforting thumb over his knuckles, "Don't apologize, Charles. You didn't _want_ this to happen, none of us did, but it's not something you can control. We'd be idiots to want you to apologize."

"You haven't been taking the medications, have you?"

" _Logan_ ," You called out in warning, looking at Logan from the back seat. He merely looked at you through the rear-view mirror before looking back at Charles.

"I found a pill in the seat of the limo. How long has it been since you took your meds?"

"I don't know!" Charles cried out and squeezed your hand.

"Logan, knock it off. We don't need to talk about this right now, we're all tired."

"No, that _shit_ that happened today?" Logan started in an exasperated tone, " _Cannot_ happen again. Give 'im two." He opened up the center console of the car and pulled out a bottle of the medications before leaning his arm back towards you.

You reluctantly took the bottle and frowned as you dumped out two large capsules into your hand before handing them over to Charles. He took them with as much grace as you'd expected from him, before tossing his head back and the capsules into his mouth. You watched as he swallowed the inhumanly large pills, and Logan huffed.

"I wanna see."

Charles stuck out his tongue at Logan in a childish manner, groaning at the same time. The behavior lifted a small smile to your lips.

The ride continued, the journey clearly proving to be more difficult than you had anticipated. But it didn't seem all that bad when the view was as beautiful as the countryside, and it didn't seem all that bad knowing Logan was there through it all.

Nor was it that bad when you caught him watching you through the mirror once more.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized this was...like probably the most difficult chapter for me to write so far? I never realized how difficult it would be to actually _write_ the seizure scene? I'm so sorry if it isn't great, but I tried!


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